


coming with my guns up

by thatgirlwho



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, University Student Eggsy, both of them are little shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9073162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgirlwho/pseuds/thatgirlwho
Summary: It starts with the door to the flat left unlocked.

--
Somehow, Eggsy ends up with sensitive intel by complete accident. Harry needs that intel. But so do the bad guys. Unfortunately, Eggsy is not yet aware of all this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveaDream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveaDream/gifts).



> Title from _Nonsene_ by Madeon, which is a fun song and I listened to it a lot while writing. 
> 
> For LiveaDream, who's prompt got the wheels rolling instantly and I wrote majority of the dialogue that day because I was so excited. Hope you enjoy! :)

It starts with the door to the flat left unlocked. 

Eggsy’s come home from his last lecture of the day, nearly dead on his feet from trying to balance a change in his work shift, fitting in his required practicum hours and dealing with the fact that all of his assignments and essays are somehow due within the same week. He had dozed off on the tube, jostled awake only by the conductor who has come to recognize Eggsy on his daily trips to the London Met University and had taken a begrudging pity on the poor boy with the permanent dark circles under his eyes and bag of textbooks clutched desperately to his chest.

He didn't think it was possible to be this exhausted and still functioning enough to get home but life was full of little miracles. 

So, he was stumbling up the last steps and towards his flat, closer to a hot shower and his blessed bed, grappling with that nauseating kind of groggy that comes after too short a sleep that made you feel worse off than you were before, when he jammed his key into the deadbolt and didn't hear the tell-tale click. 

Eggsy stares down accusingly at the key in hand like it had concocted some grievous act against his person, still in the not locked lock, and considers it for a long moment. 

They always lock the door. They don't live in the worst neighbourhood but it wasn't the best either. And they all grew up in the same complex in the estates—locking the doors was something you did, even when you were home. 

Of course Ryan was inside, tangled up in the blankets of his bed and passed out from another double shift, and even though Eggsy wakes him with a swift kick to the shin and a talking to about keeping the bloody door bolted, he accepts Ryan’s excuse that he was fucking beat, he thought he'd locked it behind him, and to get off his fucking dick about it. 

\--

Then, there's the case of the open window.

Well, not really open but cracked. Like it had been opened and someone got it stuck on the jam and didn't quite get it all the way shut. It was annoying that way and it's why Eggsy rarely opened it. 

He had stared at the thin curtain flapping in the slight breeze that whistled through the small gap, his hand still fisted in the towel he had been using to dry off his hair. The room was chilled, it must had been open for awhile, and he shivered, droplets of water rolling down his shoulders. 

He threw the towel on his bed and slammed the window shut the rest of the way, wiggling it a bit to get it over the sticky part. He kept staring at it, out across the courtyard of the flat, like he expected someone to come from around the corner and knock on the glass. 

He boarded the tube forty-five minutes later trying to ignore the uneasy feeling he had carried with him from home. 

\--

Then, things start moving in his room. 

Yeah, he's not the neatest guy around but everything has its place, even if it's under five or eight or more other things. But it had a place and Eggsy knew everything's place. A childhood spent hoarding his sparse belongings and keeping close tabs on them when Dean let the neighbourhood kids take whatever they wanted gave him an unorthodox but working system. It worked for him, anyway. 

First, all the pens in his desk drawer are shifted to the right. Then, his carefully placed stack of Xbox games were shuffled around. His laptop had moved from the top of his dresser to his desk top. His bookbag was on the floor by his bookshelf instead of on his chair. 

His boss had switched his hours again, landing him on the night shift after his last lecture, leaving him stretched thin. He had to ask for an extension of his last essay, which earned him a stern, disappointed look from his professor and wasn't that just lovely. He had fallen asleep at his temporary office during one of his day practicums and had to be woken up by a displeased supervisor tapping her foot on the floor. It was easy enough to say that all these minor misplacements could be chalked up to his own sleep-deprived forgetfulness. 

But something didn't feel right. 

Ryan and Jamal say he's paranoid. 

Eggsy likes to think of it as perceptive. 

\--

Ryan had elbowed him in the ribs. Eggsy was rounding on him, his mouth already forming around angry protestation, maybe returning the favour, when Ryan cuts him off. 

“He's lookin’ at you,” Ryan hisses, staring pointedly to Eggsy's right. 

When Eggsy glances over his shoulder, there's a man in a dark suit leaning against the brick wall, looking off down the street the other way. 

“He's been starin’ at you,” Ryan repeats. 

Eggsy laughs. “What?”

Ryan’s eyes narrow to slits; Eggsy's not sure if the look is directed at him or the man lounging against the wall behind them. “He's been hanging about for the last week.”

Eggsy looks back to the man and he thinks maybe the man turned his head away suddenly, but the suns in his eyes and he's squinting just to see. It's strange, for sure, but maybe he's just new to the flats, taking in the sights and sounds of his new local. It's not like people came around this area just to hang out; you had a purpose, a reason, or you were lost. If you were lost, you quickly found your way back. 

Eggsy fixes a cocky grin on his face when he turns to Ryan again. “Well, I’m nice to stare at.”

Ryan snorts, pushing the door open to the small landing of their building, Eggsy trailing close behind with a laugh. 

\--

But, then Eggsy sees him around more. The bloke in the suit. 

Maybe it's one of those things, where you only notice something because you're looking for it. He's not _looking_ for him but it's not like he's hard to miss. It's not everyday you see someone just walking around in a suit, at least not where Eggsy's from. 

He always seems to be within a block or two of Eggsy’s flat and sometimes Eggsy sees him on his way to the tube or walking to work. Eggsy always walks past him at a clipped pace, head down, a strange uncertainty at lingering too long in the man’s presence. He exudes something far more than regality or grace but Eggsy can't quite put his finger on it. 

He wants to tell him to piss off, go creep around somewhere else, but when he scrapes up the courage for it, his tongue feels thick in his mouth and he can't get the words out. He’ll just stare at the man who's staring out down the street, frustratingly blasé in his perfectly relaxed stature, before Eggsy grits his teeth and takes a wide berth around the man’s vigil. 

Once, Eggsy catches the man staring at him. Can feel the weight of his gaze on him. When Eggsy turns to tell him off, he's shocked into silence when the man doesn't break his gaze, and momentarily overwhelmed by the man’s presence: all sharp, cut angles of years of practiced elegance, the tapering of his jacket across his waist absolutely unfair in how it accentuates the man’s lithe figure and a face handsome with age.

“Good morning,” the man says first because Eggsy has been staring but _he_ started it. 

Eggsy worries the inside of his lip, tightening his grip around his shoulder straps. “Mornin’.”

“Off to work?” The man is holding an umbrella in his hand. He's swaying it from side to side and Eggsy watches it with rapt attention, afraid to look back up. He settles on focusing on the spot behind the man's head, a drip of dried white paint down the brick facade. 

“School,” Eggsy says after a moment, adding on when the man tilts his head, “London Met.” 

The man looks suitably impressed, a slight nod of his head, and Eggsy feels a little surge of satisfaction at that before remembering that he doesn't know this man at all. Maybe a bit of disappointment in that, but Eggsy isn't even willing to admit that to himself. 

“Well,” the man says, pushing off the wall, tapping his umbrella against the pavement, “have a good day.”

The man levels him with a stare that makes Eggsy feel pinned to the spot, so thoroughly scrutinized he feels like he has been stripped clean and made to stand bare under the bright sun. 

“Cheers,” Eggsy manages to say as the man is walking away, somewhat baffled and unsure about the whole thing. 

\--

Eggsy doesn't see the man again after that. 

There's a small flutter in his stomach when a week goes by and the man in the suit still isn't at his usual spot. Which he then promptly feels altogether ridiculous for because _what the fuck is that all about?_

Doesn't do anything to stop the regret that forms afterwards at not learning the man’s name. 

\--

Someone's been following him. 

He knows what it's like to be followed. He knows what it's like to have someone twenty feet behind at all times. He knows how to track movements, be aware of someone who takes all his same routes, even if a bit delayed. He's had someone following him through the estates all his life, one of Dean’s lackeys making sure he kept his nose clean and up to (low enough for) Dean’s standards. 

Even if he had been out from under Dean’s thumb for a few years, it's not something you forget easily. 

This someone is lurking just far enough behind that no one else will notice or be suspicious. He is always outside the university waiting on the kerb at the street light, stepping out two cars behind on the underground, coming into the shop when Eggsy’s on the day shift and it's busy--he's begun to recognize his shadowed face, his posture, flickering gaze and hands shoved in his pockets. 

One of Dean’s boys, a new recruit he hasn't had time to familiarize himself with, coming to keep tabs on him. Well, old habits die hard for everyone, it seems. 

Like he's said, he's perceptive. And whoever this person is, they aren't subtle. 

He thinks of the man in the suit and something sours in him, and he feels oddly betrayed by this, like maybe he was in on it. 

Dean’s never run in the same circles as gents who wear suits but more surprising things have happened. 

\--

Eggsy’s managed to shove all his textbooks and a haphazard jumble of notebooks into his bag, and he's mildly pleased with his astounding packing abilities, though hefting it around will be another feat. Thanks to a dead laptop and an impending deadline, Eggsy is hauling himself down to the campus library to finish the two essays he has been neglecting the past three weeks. 

He picks up the USB drive containing the feeble attempts at a coherent argument from his desk top, tossing it in the air and catching it above his head. 

He takes the same path every day to the underground. But the man he's come to recognize with the stern face and beady little eyes is standing on the stoop of the apartment entrance. He nods at Eggsy when he steps out onto the street and Eggsy nods back, his mouth going dry. 

Eggsy pauses, staring at his feet, hoisting his straps a little further up his shoulder, and turns left instead of right, heading towards the side alley. 

It takes a few seconds before he hears footsteps following him. He grins, knowing he's thrown the man off but it's then he's certain of what's to come and with a needling sobriety he feels himself go taut, anticipation flooding through his nerves, setting him on edge. 

He jogs, light on his feet and making little noise, when he enters the alley and ducks behind a dumpster before the man can catch up. Eggsy's got his bag off his shoulders, in his hands, testing the weight of it. 

It's a miracle he can hear the sound of the footsteps over the thundering of blood in his ears, his heart lodged in his throat, and when the footsteps slow just a bit, as if pausing to look around, Eggsy spins out from behind the dumpster, swinging his arms out and catching the man on the right side of his shoulder and head. 

It makes a satisfactory thump that sends the man stumbling back, a hand flying up to his face. 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” Eggsy demands, almost shouting, his bag still held out in front of him. 

But it's not the man from the apartment step—no, that guy never wore a suit. Or carried an umbrella. 

Well, shit. 

The man in the suit groans, doubled over, working his jaw back and forth. “A moment, if you would,” he says, a bit breathless and mildly irritated. 

Eggsy glances up over the man’s back, narrowing his eyes. 

“Who the fuck is—”

In a blur, the man in the suit stands up and in a rapid succession of graceful movements, produces a gun from inside his jacket, his arm moving in an elegant arch to take aim and shoots, the crack of the gun reverberating off the walls, and hitting the man at the end of the alley who had just broken into a run towards them, his own gun raised. The same man who had been standing outside Eggsy's apartment building just a few minutes before. 

“— _shit_!”

Eggsy stands with his mouth hanging open because he can't actually think of what else he can do. 

The man in the suit lowers his arm with a huff before setting off towards the man lying on the dirty alley pavement. Eggsy watches him with a mix of terror and awe as he picks up the gun from the other man’s limp hand and takes out the clip before slipping it in his back pocket. He then kneels down, fishing around in the man’s jacket, takes a moment to fiddle with the glasses on his own face before standing and marches back towards Eggsy, looking rather disgruntled. 

He's clipping his gun back into a holster strapped under his arm, buttoning up his jacket with barely a wrinkle to be seen, when he says, “Someone will have heard that.”

“Should I—do I just walk away now?” Eggsy asks because _fucking_ really. He wasn't about to hang about if the coppers were showing up.

Unless the man in the suit was a copper. He hadn't thought of that. He takes a tentative step back in case the man decides this is the point where he wants to slap the cuffs on.

Or—something worse than that. He _did_ just shoot someone. 

At this point, Eggsy wasn't sure what the hell the man was. 

“I would advise that you come with me if you wish to live.”

Eggsy drops his arms, his bag hitting the top of his foot— _fuck_ , it did smart and he feels bad for clocking the man in the face but the man seems completely over it by all accounts—and looks at the man, dumbfounded and astonished.

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

The man's face breaks into a small smile before settling into passivity once again. He side steps Eggsy, bending down to take up the umbrella he had dropped and heads towards the end of the alley and the adjoining road. 

“More will be coming,” he calls over his shoulder. “Quickly now.”

Eggsy takes a moment to assess the situation he found himself precariously apart of: he hit the man in the suit in the face. The man in the suit shot another man. He did _not_ shoot Eggsy. 

Eggsy looks at the man at the other end of the alley. He thinks he hears a low groan, sees a leg twitch. 

With that, Eggsy grabs up his bag and jogs to catch up to the man in the suit. He was willing to take his chances. 

\--

The man in the suit is remarkably calm for someone who just shot another person in a dingy back alley. He walks with the same composed manner as he had before, long strides that carry him a bit further than Eggsy can keep up even though he's used to rushing a bit, usually to catch the last train. The man’s face is splotched red though, a slight indentation along his cheek from where one of Eggsy’s textbooks clipped him in the jaw. 

Eggsy tries to look as calm even though he feels a bit like he's going to shake apart from his frayed nerves. 

“Sorry about your face, by the way.”

“It's quite alright. I've had worse things thrown at me.”

Eggsy nods, the guilt still gnawing away at him.

“Gonna give us a name, then?”

The man glances briefly at Eggsy. “Harry Hart.”

Eggsy purses his lips, waits. “Ain't you gonna ask mine?”

“I already know yours, Gary.”

“Eggsy,” he corrects automatically. 

“Alright, Eggsy.”

Another pause where Eggsy mulls over this, then his eyes go wide. 

“Oi—you know my name? Don't you know how fucked that sounds?”

Harry just smiles like a man who knows exactly how it sounds. 

\--

Harry's trying to get into a car that's most definitely not his, a nice little number if Eggsy has to be honest, shiny and slick with sloping curves but nothing like what he’s seen in the magazines Jamal insists on buying and drooling over, though better than what he was certainly used to around the estates. Eggsy knows cars well enough, he thinks, knows how to get into them with little fanfare and get them started just as quick, working deftly and with precision to get the wires sparked, feel the car rumble alive beneath his feet. 

Well, when he had needed to. He didn't see much use for it now. 

It's why he bounces up on his toes, agitated and restless, glancing nervously around from where Harry was kneeling beside the car trying to work the lock like he's expecting a hoard of men in windbreakers and brandishing guns are going to round the next corner and shoot him down for _whatever_ , before he shoves Harry aside, plucking the lockpick from his hands and gets the door with little effort, unable to hide the grin that spreads across his face when the door clicks and he throws it open. 

Harry watches with his eyebrows raised and says nothing. 

“Show you how it's done,” Eggsy says as Harry gets in, leaning over to open the passenger side and motioning for Eggsy to get in. 

“Do not boast, Eggsy. It's very rude.”

“I'll show you rude,” Eggsy retorts because he needs to say something even if it's not very eloquent. 

There's something about the intensity of Harry’s gaze, a look that is equal parts scrutinizing and fascinated, and when he fixes this look back at Eggsy again, something flaring up in the warmth of his eyes, Eggsy snaps his mouth shut. 

Then Harry is slipping into the driver’s side and Eggsy is left standing on the kerb for a moment, staring down the road. 

“Are you jacking this car? Harry—the fuck's the car for?”

\--

That's how Eggsy ends up in a car chase. 

Harry’s weaving in and out of traffic effortlessly, shifting gears with expert jerks of his wise and long legs moving between gas and clutch with resplendent ease that sets a heat curling up Eggsy’s stomach. 

He sits rigid in his seat, hands clutched around his bag, trying to decide if he should offer any kind of help, though Harry looks fairly capable and like he has it mostly under control. But that's not really the point—Eggsy's just as capable and he thinks he deserves a bit of fun. 

It's when Harry leans out the window, gun drawn, and fires off a round at pursuers Eggsy never even noticed until that moment that he protests. 

“At least give me the gun!”

“Are you cleared to carry a firearm?” 

Eggsy whips his head to glare at him but Harry isn't even looking, his eyes trained on the road, completely unfazed. That pisses Eggsy off even more because, _really_ , who the fuck is this guy?

“I can at least drive the car.” That, he can do and he can do it well, thanks much. 

Harry's mouth ticks up in the corner as he takes a hard left, dodging past a slowing double decker. “Not a chance.”

And yeah, Eggsy mopes in a high speed chase because where's the fun in being the only person in the car who doesn't get to actually do anything. 

\--

They lose their tail after a few kilometres and ditch the car, looking quite the odd pair strolling through what Eggsy hopes is an inconspicuous carpark. 

Eggsy stumbles out of the car, his entire body thrumming as he finds his balance and shakes the numbness from his fingers; it's not like he hadn't ever driven a car a little recklessly before to outrun someone on his tail but that was something else entirely. Probably aided by the fact no one had ever tried to shoot him for it. 

Naturally, Harry emerges from the car elegantly with his umbrella at his side, an almost jaunty lilt to his step. 

Eggsy can't help but stare bitterly at him. Fucking wild. 

“You gonna fill me in on what this is all about?” Eggsy asks after a few minutes of silence as they walk away from their getaway car. 

“It seems you are the target of much ire,” Harry says, explaining nothing. When Eggsy gives him a testy look, Harry adds unhelpfully, “You have some very important information.”

Eggsy can feeling his features settling into perplexity, his eyebrows knitting together.

“You have come into possession of a USB drive that contains plans of a rather malicious organization I have had my eyes on for some time.”

It takes a moment for the realization to work its way in. Eggsy digs around in his bag, pulling out his little black and red stick, holding it up. 

Well, it looks just like his. He’s put all his essays, assignments and typed up notes on it throughout the semester. But he hadn't looked at it in weeks, too distracted in catching up with his required reading and getting used to his new work schedule. 

Not since— _oh_ , not since a few days before he noticed the unlocked door at the flat. He hadn't been paying attention when he had packed up his stuff that day at the library, literally just pulling everything off his table into his bag. 

And a lot of things started to suddenly make sense. _Perceptive, not paranoid, you dickheads_ , Eggsy thinks with triumph. 

Harry reaches over, snatching it out of Eggsy's hand, earning him an offended glare from Eggsy. 

“So, got what you came for,” Eggsy mutters. 

“Yes,” Harry says. “But they don't know that. And whoever this,” and he waves the stick in the air, “belongs to will still want you to answer for it’s disappearance.”

Eggsy studies the stick caught between Harry's long fingers and he most definitely doesn't think about what those long fingers could do because this is _not_ the place—but he can't forget the way Harry handled that car and, fuck it all, he's done for, completely.

Him and his traitorous, half-hard dick. It's the fucking adrenaline and he needs a strong drink or a cold shower or both. 

Eggsy swallows thickly, sticks out his chin and says a bit smartly, “This ain't some sort of Burn After Reading thing, right? Like, maybe this ain't really all that important.”

Harry looks at Eggsy like he's merely humouring him. “Someone tried to shoot you outside your apartment. I assure you, this is very real.”

Well, when he puts it like _that_. “Oh. Yeah.” 

They continue on until they come to a stop at an intersection, Harry waiting patiently for the walk light to flash green. Eggsy glances sideways at him, contemplating asking if he's in so much danger, is one _do not walk_ sign really all that important to abide by? But he gathers he knows the answer already and waits alongside Harry.

“Wait,” Eggsy muses suddenly, “why would anyone leave this lying around at a _library_? Fucking daft, innit?”

Harry sways his umbrella in his hands, smiling genially down at the ground like the existence of this strange new world Eggsy had unwittingly uncovered amused him greatly. 

“That it is.”

\--

Turns out, not all nefarious underground organizations bent on toppling governments function at the same level of integrity, ability or even overall competence. While Eggsy had managed to get his hands on some master plans by sheer dumb and awful luck, Harry makes it very clear that what they are dealing with is, for all intents and purposes, is deplorably pedestrian in its influence. 

Though they seem to have a good handle on hired gunmen to try strong arm their way to fixing their mistake. 

Harry doesn't say who he works for or why he knows Eggsy has the stick but he still hasn't shot Eggsy or hauled him back to some dark interrogation room in some dodgy metal bunker somewhere beneath London, so Eggsy thinks he can trust him. Well, enough to save his life at least for the moment. After that, he's not sure. 

He tries not to think on it. 

“How do you know all this? About me and whoever these people chasing me are?”

“Classified, Eggsy.”

Turns out, that would be a pretty common phrase coming from Harry's mouth for most of the day. Doesn't stop Eggsy from asking, just to see the slight tick of vexation flit across his otherwise placid face. 

There's something warm about it, though, like he really doesn't mind. Or, so Eggsy tells himself. 

\--

As it is, Harry is far more impressive than Eggsy first thought. 

Yeah, the agility with which he could fire a shot within seconds of spotting a pursuer with miraculous accuracy or how he could maneuver a car through the packed streets of London that still sent a thrill sparking through Eggsy’s nerves just thinking about it was all very well and good. The man of mystery act also added to his undeniable charm though Eggsy maintained quietly that the man was still some kind of freak or _something_ , he just _had_ to be to come swooping in like that, showing off some kind of elaborate and mad set of skills that would land most people in the nick, while still remaining infuriatingly collected about all his daring attempts. 

But if there wasn't something about a man in a suit holding his fucking own in a fist fight. 

They are crouched behind a low wall, Harry unclipping his gun from his holster. He hands it to Eggsy with barely a backwards glance and Eggsy takes it in his open hand. 

“In case more show up,” Harry explains. “You know how to use it, I presume.”

Eggsy gives him a smirk and a click of his tongue. “Are I in trouble if I say yes?”

They had been shoe-horned into a blocked alley, cornered by a sudden group of six goons (in fucking windbreakers, Eggsy _knew_ it) that had appeared at the end of the block they had been walking down. Harry had dragged him rather unceremoniously through a few side streets but Eggsy knew the men had spotted them, having caught sight of the group gesturing wildly at them both and racing after them before Harry had tugged Eggsy away. 

Harry's standing, umbrella held out slightly in front of him, when Eggsy realizes what he's doing. 

“Hang about—you don't need this?”

“Nonsense, Eggsy,” Harry says and meets the men head on. 

Eggsy goes from stunned to astonished and a little turned on in a matter of seconds as Harry twists his way through wailing fists and mistimed kicks with such languid accuracy, if he wasn't being attacked by half a dozen men he could easily be mistaken for dancing--though it would be the weirdest fucking dance Eggsy has ever seen. The same elegant swiftness and contained chaos which defined his every other movement was guiding him here, taking on every new assault like he was merely being jostled in a crowd.

Eggsy doesn't think he can ever look at an umbrella the same again when Harry kneels down, snaps it open, twists the handle and fires a cord that catches one man around the throat, electrocuting him. 

Harry makes quick work of them all, leaving then laid out on the ground, some twitching uselessly and others absolutely still, and merely rises to his feet as if he were only tying his shoe, brushing the dust from his knees. 

Something desperate and needy licks up the base of Eggsy’s spine, coils deep in his gut, and if he has to adjust his pants when he stands back up, well—that's just for him to know. 

When Harry turns back to face him, a pleased look lining his features and still looking so fucking frustratingly unflustered, Eggsy swallows down around the sudden lump in his throat. 

\--

Harry says they are waiting for something. So wait they must. 

They are sitting on a park bench, Eggsy settled back into his seat, legs spread wide because he's fucking _knackered_ all of a sudden and there's a burning stitch in his side every time he breathes. Harry is sitting beside him, leg crossed over one knee, umbrella laid over his lap and seemingly content. 

Eggsy is entirely unsure if he wants to be in the vicinity of that umbrella at the moment. He shifts a little farther over, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. 

He thinks Harry notices but the bloke’s too much of a gentleman to say it. Eggsy's not sure how much he appreciates that yet. 

“You work alone?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

Eggsy wonders what he means by that. He had noticed Harry turning away every so often, hand resting along his glasses, and always turning back towards him looking exasperated and a bit cross. He finds it funny to think even a bloke as well put together as Harry Hart could possibly hate his boss. Even thinking of someone standing over him and bossing him about is enough for a laugh. 

So, Eggsy just shrugs his shoulder and smiles up at him, saying, “Tell me about it.”

Harry gives him a look like he just might and as simple as it is, it's all just a bit disorienting. You know, considering. 

\--

Harry tells him to wait a ways down from the street corner. Tells him to stay in sight, don't move. And Harry walks down to the middle of the street, stops by a lamp post and waits. 

A few minutes later, a black unmarked taxi pulls up alongside the kerb. Harry leans into the passenger side window and Eggsy can't see what's going on for the most part but he does see Harry reach into his pocket and hand something to the driver. Then he leans up, back straight, and the black taxi takes off. All in all, an ordinary interaction to any innocent passerby but Eggsy feels like he's just bore witness to something frighteningly clandestine and wonders the price he's going to have to pay for it. 

Maybe they'd stab him with a needle full of drugs to wipe his memory and toss him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. But that seems a little much and Eggsy's pretty certain at this point that his life ain't some crazy movie. It's getting close, though, if this day is any indication. 

“I'm to accompany you for the rest of the day while my associates take care of the rest of our friends,” Harry says when he comes back to where Eggsy has been waiting. 

“Alright,” Eggsy answers because what else is he supposed to say. 

Harry stands there, waiting for him to answer, and he does so politely that Eggsy is actually irritated by it. 

“Well?” Eggsy prompts because he feels like he's vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear and he can't really keep his thoughts straight and he doesn't want to be making decisions right this moment.

He doesn't think they'd be very appropriate or well received by a man in a suit that probably costs as much as his monthly flat rent. 

“Hungry?” Harry offers. 

“Starving,” Eggsy answers, because he is. 

\--

Surprisingly, Harry knows a place. 

Eggsy's not even sure where they are. When Harry suggests a place just around the corner, Eggsy looks warily at his clothes, the jeans that have been torn at the knees for near on a year but still comfortable and the almost threadbare hoodie and tired looking jacket zipped up to his chin, and tries not to compare himself to Harry standing opposite him. He thinks that whatever place Harry likes it's probably way too posh for him to even glance at, let alone enter the premises. 

But it's a little hole-in-the wall fish and chip place and it doesn't even have enough room for them to sit inside, so Eggsy orders his with two sides of tartar sauce and twists his face in disgust when Harry asks for extra vinegar on his fries, and they take their meal out into the late afternoon and find a quiet stoop to sit on.

Harry pays even when Eggsy insists he has the money for it. Harry says he won't hear of it and Eggsy let's him. 

Eggsy has to smile at the fact that Harry takes such care in setting down his umbrella and settling in, but tears at his fish with his bare hands, gathering three fries at a time to take a bite. 

Eggsy has to look at his own basket when Harry sucks the grease from his fingertips. 

“So, you take all your captives out on dates afterwards?” Eggsy asks.

“You're not my captive,” Harry answers flatly. “You can leave at any time.”

“You did kind of drag me along.”

“You hotwired a car.”

“Only cause you couldn't.” 

Harry scoffs, swiping his piece fish through a puddle of vinegar before popping it in his mouth. 

“So?” Eggsy says and Harry shoots him a questioning look, “you take all the folks you save out on dates?”

“Is this a date?” Harry says but there's a lightness to his voice. A glimmer in his eye that Eggsy is absolutely entranced by. 

“You paid,” Eggsy points out. He doesn't think he's nervous but his heart has other ideas, makes it known by the thundering in his chest. 

“Hmm.” Harry chews thoughtfully before shrugging. “No, I don't.”

Eggsy nods, smiling, running his hands down the sides of his legs. “Nice.”

They eat the rest of their food in comfortable silence. Eggsy nudges his knee up against Harry’s thigh once and he sees the corners of Harry's mouth curl up in a smile. 

“You know,” Harry begins as he stands, brushing crumbs from his trousers, “I think you'd look good in a suit. I could have you fitted for one.”

“Oh, so you's a tailor then?” Eggsy teases. 

“Do I look like a tailor?”

Eggsy senses a golden opportunity. He leans back on the step, his elbows resting on the step above, and let's his legs fall open just slightly. He certainly doesn't miss the slow rake of Harry’s gradual heated gaze over him. “Usually let someone take me out for a proper dinner first before they start undressing me and all.”

Now, it was Harry's turn to look bewildered and if that wasn't the best fucking thing Eggsy's seen all damn day. Well worth it almost getting shot in a back alley, he thinks. 

Eggsy bins their empty baskets and slides up alongside Harry, throwing his backpack over his shoulder once again, only now remembering his essays but not really having it in him to feel bad about further ignoring them. 

He's sure he has a fairly good excuse but he's pretty sure his professor would never believe a word of it. 

They stand a bit closer together now than they did before. Eggsy's trying to hide the building heat prickling up his neck and across his cheeks but allows their elbows to brush when Harry has to take a side-step closer to navigate around a rubbish bin and he doesn't mean to look up at Harry with some kind of delirious mix of hopeful anticipation and elation but he's always been a bit of helpless when it comes to this kind of thing. Not getting utterly swept away when he thinks he's found something good. It didn't come around often in his life. 

The look Harry gives him back makes Eggsy think the man knows exactly what's going through his bloody head. And he doesn't seem at all bothered. 

But they are standing closer and Eggsy's loving every minute of it, but that also means he can hear a portion of what Harry says when his hands go up to his glasses and his voice rises in a bit of a hurry, edged with irritation.

“Not another word, Merlin,” Harry murmurs, letting his hand fall to his side, shifting a glance to Eggsy. 

“Merlin, eh?” Eggsy says. “Does that make you Arthur?”

And Eggsy doesn't get the joke but he can't help but laugh at the look on Harry's face.


End file.
